


Four AM Is Tragic Backstory Hour

by petalSpitter



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Minor Character Death, Minor Spoilers, the director just wants this boy to be a boy, watch this become jossed in two years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8786773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petalSpitter/pseuds/petalSpitter
Summary: Sometimes little boys can't sleep. They're supposed to be agonized over first crushes and baseball games and math tests the next morning. That's not what keeps Angus McDonald up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in three hours instead of writing a Beowulf essay.

It was four am and the boy was tired as he'd ever been in his life but insomnia wasn't letting him out of its grip. Even though he was exhausted from sobbing, closing his eyes brought no rest. Asshole. If insomnia had a face he’d... Well, Angus wouldn't do anything, but he knew quite a few people in the Bureau who would punch it.

 

Angus gave up on his war with sleep, crawling out from under the single thin blanket and pulling it over his shoulders. Maybe a midnight snack would make him feel better. Though at this time of night it would be more like a very early breakfast. The halls had been deserted when Angus walked to the cafeteria, leading to the sight The Director sitting at a table with a cup of hot tea being quite the surprise.

 

“Lu-Director?” He sniffled, wiping his eyes on his blanket one last time so she couldn’t see his tears. “What're you doing here? Can't you just make Davenport bring you tea?” 

 

She turns to him with smooth elegance, showing no sign of being surprised by his sudden appearance. “We’re alone, dear boy. Call me Lucretia if you’d like.” The woman pats the seat beside her, where a second mug of hot tea is already waiting. 

 

“Th... thanks.” He walks over, sitting and staring at the mug, putting the pieces together lightening fast even in his exhausted state. “How’d you know?” He takes the mug, sipping slowly and staring at the much taller woman. 

 

“Call it intuition. I woke up at three am knowing something was wrong, fixed myself a cup of tea, and now you're here.” She plops a cube of sugar into her tea, stirring until it's dissolved to nothingness. 

 

“My mom used to do the same thing before-” He stops himself before a lump can form in his throat and drinks more tea, feeling the soothing heat melt away the ache.

 

Lucretia’s own detective skills pick up on all the subtle cues he gives off, and she pats his back comfortingly. “Before you lost her. I understand. It's a very common fate these days.” Briefly The Director wonders how many other orphans and widows the Grand Relics have made before rapidly retracting the thought. That can be unpacked later, when there's much more time and much less to do. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

The boy nods solemnly, setting his mug back on the table and wiping his eyes as the thoughts he’d been mulling over all night rise to the forefront of his mind and he considers how to verbalize them. 

 

“When I was nine, my parents took a trip to town and... they never came back. I-I know they didn't just abandon me. They’d never do that. But... I know they died. I'm sure of that. There's no other reason they wouldn't come home...” Angus stares at his green tinted reflection in his cup of tea and Lucretia nods in acknowledgement, still rubbing his back. “I just... wish I had closure, you know? Just anything besides this massive unsolved mystery, you know? I mean, that's what I do! I see past people’s horsesh-” The Director gives him a disapproving stare. “-Horsepoop and solve mysteries! So why couldn't I solve this one...?” Agnus deflates, draping himself over the table and letting out a groan. “I'm just not used to not- not solving things. Sometimes I feel like if I was a good detective at all I would have solved it. But I didn't... so I must not be as good a detective as everyone thinks I am.” 

 

“Angus...” She wants to tell him that's not true in the slightest, that he was such a clever detective he was getting to be a massive pain in the ass before the B.o.B recruited him, but she'd seen this kind of self-doubt before. Instead she picks her brain for a story that might comfort the boy. Something to dispense a relevant moral or show him he wasn't alone. But all her stories weren't for children. And Agnus deserved to be a child for a little but longer. “You know... I lost something, too. I was around your age, and I never got closure either.” 

 

“Who’d you lose?” He perks up, leaning closer to the old woman.

 

“My... cat.” She can tell from the frown on his face alone he doesn't like the story. 

 

“Cats and parents aren't that close.”

 

It feels so condescending, trying to compare her pet to his parents, but it's better than her other stories. “I know... but it's the closest I have. You've been through something no one should go through, especially no one so young. But...” She sighs and shrugs. “I had a very easy childhood, Angus. One day my cat ran through the kitchen door and never returned. I cried like a little girl for months and then the pain dulled with time. And the more I grew up the worse the pains got. Until a missing cat didn't seem very important anymore.” She promises herself she'll tell him the real stories when he's older. 

 

“That's kind of a crappy story.” He takes a sip of tea. Lucretia deigns to ignore his coarse language. He's been spending too much time with that elf. 

 

“I know, but... it's better than a lot of stories I have to tell.” 

 

“Then why don't you tell those stories?”

 

She pauses for a long time, staring at her tea and sighing. “Because, Angus... You deserve to be a child. Not-” She sighs again, the words trying to stay in her throat, knowing how quickly Angus will catch on. “-Not a soldier in a war you barely understand, fighting not because you believe in it but because if you try to run you'll die. But you'll die if you fight, too, so you wonder what the point of trying is until one day you-” She chokes up, the memory replaying in her head. The man walked up to her, grinning a plastic grin and dishing out stilted compliments about how smart she was. She wants to snap at him to get to the point but learned long ago to keep her head down. She still remembers the relief when he said ‘treasury’, the way she felt like she was floating as she walked out of the barracks, no longer a pressed ganged soldier but someone safe. The feeling didn't last long.

 

Agnus wraps his arms around her, lanky limbs feeling like cloth-wrapped bones. Had he been getting enough to eat? She makes a mental note to have Davenport deliver meals to Angus. 

 

“What happened?”

 

“A warlord barreled into town and took it over. Anyone who tried to put up a fight died-my own family included- and everyone else was forced into her army. Her treasurer died and rumor had it I was good at math-”

 

“Did you come up with a plot to take down the warlord?”

 

“No. And that's haunted me for the rest of my life. I just submitted and did her finances until one day someone else put her head on a pike. And I still doubt myself, even with all I've built. After all, if I really was a good person, wouldn't I have taken her down?” She wraps an arm around Angus, that twinkle in his eye telling her he's picked up on the parallel.

 

“Well... I think you're a pretty good person. Better than a lot of people.” 

 

The two embraced in silence as the sun lazily climbed higher and the kitchen staff filtered in to start cooking breakfast. Agnus pulls away first, yawning and reaching for his now cold tea and getting to his feet. Lucretia grabs his hand before he's out of range.

 

“Get some sleep, child. You look like you've been up all night.” 

 

Agnus nods slowly, drowsiness finally reaching him as he turns to leave. When he finally gets to his room, there's hot tea and breakfast on the nightstand and a handwritten note:

 

‘All the guards know you're supposed to be in bed until ten, so no sneaking around young man.’ -Your self-proclaimed godmother, Lucretia


End file.
